


we are the small fish, we swim together

by axumun



Series: until it runneth over [2]
Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: First Time, Frottage, M/M, Nightmares, Non-Penetrative Sex, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:01:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28383654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/axumun/pseuds/axumun
Summary: "There's not much of a 'normal'," Lio admits. "I've heard of it happening. But it's not like we could keep very good records amongst ourselves on the run, or in prison. So we're kinda making it up as we go."They both consider this in curious silence."Maybe we should start making the records, then."
Relationships: Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos
Series: until it runneth over [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2039746
Comments: 2
Kudos: 71





	we are the small fish, we swim together

Lio pushes past the bonds of his apprehension as he opens the front door of the shelter, encumbered by boxes of blankets and cold medicine. He expects rejection, jeering; to dodge projectiles thrown at his head.

He receives only the usual hellos.

A few phone calls had been made in advance to those here he knows best, the real ones running the show. They'd had enough of a store of patience and trust in him to hear him out.

(maybe anybody would've heard him out, after all)

Lio doesn't know if the workers here talked in clarifying whispers about what happened; maybe they'd held a meeting with the refugees as a collective. Maybe no one had said anything. All he knows is that there are familiar children hugging his legs and tugging at his clothes, vying for his attention. The sucker punch of relief hits him square in the gut.

They still ask him questions - most of which he doesn't have answers for, but he manages - and they're much more innocent than the ones his brain supplied for him, thank goodness.

........ _I still have the fire because it was given to me._ / By who? / _Someone very special, someone who saved my life._ / Where did they get it? / _I gave it to him first._ / Then why don't we have the fire? / _Ev_ _eryone else's fire went to find somewhere else to live. They weren't happy here anymore_. / Is your fire happy? / _I don't know yet_........

A few of the adults are still bewildered by it all, but everyone's still catching up with all of the events of the last few months anyway. He gives more detailed explanations over dinner to those who ask, and sometimes overshares with those who don't. It's not like they don't know about Galo, who'd spearheaded the rescue operations after the fall of the Parnassus; if they didn't see him then, they've definitely seen him on TV, smiling and answering questions, posing and flexing to fill dead air.

(Lio has seen those segments in newsreels; he's intrigued to find that he can still tune into the emotions of a digital Galo, feel the ebb and flow of his confidence, feel his mind hollow as he's asked something he's not quite prepared for.)

\---

It's getting harder for Lio to pretend he doesn't have a place to live.

He still visits the shelters a couple times a week, still peppers in visits to Meis and Gueira's shared studio apartment. But his extra shirts are mixed in with Galo's in his dryer, and there are two toothbrushes by the bathroom sink. His domain still doesn't extend much beyond the couch, and he lives modestly and neatly enough that the evidence is easy to miss, but the folded afghans are always just a little askew, like they never stay thrown over the back very long.

Galo's mentioned it a couple times, eyes shining and lips crooking up like they're barely containing the light of his being. It hurt for Lio to look at him when he'd said he wasn't ready to talk about it, feeling himself snuffing Galo down to a candle light.

Even after all this time, his nervous system is still honed for survival, armed to the teeth and ready to attack at a moment's notice. The force of the apocalypse doesn't dare pass that armor.

Nothing gets through, nothing, except, except _except_ -

"Babe, I'm home!"

Lio looks up automatically at the greeting, an underused region of his brain lighting up. They reflect welcoming smiles at each other, but Lio is quickly pulled back under by the torrent of his task. The afghan he's grown fondest of is spread across his legs, Galo's borrowed laptop whirring under his hands. He's most of the way through another proposal, this time about temp housing. It just feels like a tiny yet exhausting step up a giant ladder to be taken seriously; in government meetings, he's already starting to feel like thirty years of incarceration and injustice are being denied, downplayed, swept under the grimy city floor. If only he had the right words, if only he had more diplomats on his side, maybe he could still protect them -

Lio floats back down to his body, Galo's big hands waving in front of his face like they're testing his object permanence.

"Did you hear anything I said?" Galo asks quietly, and Lio's shoulders slump. No, not at all; he says as much.

Galo hums, then he closes the laptop, setting it on the coffee table. Lio hears himself make a noise of protest, but he lets Galo throw another blanket over him, settling in beside him like a giant muscled teddy bear, chastely kissing his cheek.

"Hey," Galo murmurs, his fingers carding through Lio's bangs. "When's the last time you drank any water?"

Lio mentally counts on his fingers, but Galo's already getting up again and heading to the kitchen like he knows the answer. "Few hours?"

"Better than last time I asked," Galo chuckles as he runs the tap. Lio's grateful for the cold glass pressed against his palms, grounding him.

"Long day?" Lio asks as Galo nestles at his side again. He only now realizes that the sun has barely set, dusting their silhouettes in pale orange through the window. Galo's back late, and he'd been too wrapped up in the whirlwind of _where will the funding come from? is it going to be enough? is this going to cause an economic strain, will they use that against us?_ to even consider being worried.

Galo's texting Lucia, arranging a ride for her in the morning, before hopping back to some puzzle game on his phone. "We worked on one of the central residential districts today, and it got hit a lot harder than we thought. Everyone who lived there is shacked up in a hotel right now. So Ignis and Remi did recon on the place, Lucia and Aina started to put together a plan for rebuilding, and Varys and I cleared the worst of it. I guess I lost track of time, and eventually I got sent home."

Lio ponders this, and he perhaps gets a little stuck on the hotel bit. Then he gets too stuck on the mental image of Galo, cocksure and heaving and skin slicked with sweat, hauling massive debris. He blinks it away.

"What about you?" Galo asks, gaze falling to the closed laptop, Lio's frantically scribbled notes.

Lio's shoulders slump, sighing in gathered frustration. "The proposal's due at the end of the week. I've been trying to get feedback from people at the shelter...Turns out not a lot of us have political backgrounds. A lot of them grew up after the Great World Blaze. They really tried to help me, though..."

Galo leans over to pick up Lio's pen from the table and bites the end. Lio winces. "Maybe just listening is enough for now, babe. You're their mediator. You're there to help them."

Lio's gaze and voice drop low. "Sometimes I wish it wasn't just me," he admits.

The pen is placed gently back to the table, and Galo tucks his face into Lio's hair. "Hey, I just got paid today. We can get dinner, if you want. It sounds like you need a break."

Lio feels his own head shake. "Don't really wanna go out tonight."

Galo hums sympathetically. Sometimes he protests, insisting that Lio could use the fresh air, but tonight he concedes.

"There should still be some leftovers in the fridge," Galo offers, "unless you had 'em for lunch."

Lio bli nks. He didn't have lunch.

"Sounds good," Lio agrees.

They've got leftover pasta from the pizza place down the street - Lio had insisted that Galo try something besides the Margherita Mega Max, and Galo had taken it as a challenge rather than a gentle suggestion. The cardboard containers haven't held up very well, so they use real plates tonight, and real silverware.

"Wouldn't need silverware for pizza, little pyro," Galo muses.

"Keeps you humble," Lio teases.

Lio finally decompresses enough to clear the table of his work so they can settle their food there. The freedom of being able to choose between going back to his proposal afterwards or just casually hang out with Galo feels strangely choking, agoraphobic.

"So I was wondering," Lio starts in between petite, measured bites. He's gotten a little better at mindful eating lately, when he remembers to eat at all. "Do you feel different?"

Galo makes a _hrmmm?_ sound around his mouthful. "Different how?"

"The bond," Lio clarifies. "It's been happening for a while, but sometimes I think I can hear your thoughts. Like some of the stuff going through my head isn't coming from me at all."

Galo makes his thinking face again. "I don't get _that_ very much. But...Once in a while, out of nowhere, I get feelings that don't seem like mine. The other day I was playing cards with Varys on a break and I just...got really sad. But I wasn't sad? It's weird."

Lio frowns. "When was that, exactly?"

Intense concentration. "Tuesday. Probably about noon."

That was about the time that Lio had woken from another particularly bad dream, with no Galo to hold the floodgate back, and he'd sort of wallowed in the depths for a while. It was an unusual display of emotion that he'd allowed himself, even if no one had been there to witness it. It'd still lingered when Galo got home, and he'd been pulled into the kind of long, wordless hug that makes the world feel just a little kinder.

"Oh," Lio breathes. "So it's really happening."

"Is that normal?" Galo asks, taking another bite.

"There's not much of a 'normal'," Lio admits. "I've heard of it happening. But it's not like we could keep very good records amongst ourselves on the run, or in prison. So we're kinda making it up as we go."

They both consider this in curious silence.

"Maybe we should start making the records, then."

Records have been a topic stuck toward the back of the filing cabinet of Lio's brain, behind basic human rights and adequate food and shelter, but they have certainly been considered. Some Burnish don't even have traceable family histories, having run away from home after the Blaze, cutting ties with their past to forge uncertain futures. It's a rabbit hole that leads to locating any next of kin, registering them for personal identification...these issues are being handled by Promepolis' makeshift government, but Lio worries that they're being pushed further down the ladder every day.

But bonding records...It seems frivolous, yet fascinating.

He knows a couple in one of the shelters that have bonded; they're one of the lucky ones. He doesn't talk to them as much as he probably should, but he's seen the way they look at each other, like the moon was hung in each others' eyes; like when one breathed out, the other breathed it right in, a lifeline.

"There are others," Lio ponders. "Maybe that could help them. It could even help us all in the medical field, the learn more about Burnish physiology."

"It might, and that'd be wonderful," Galo answers. He pauses, because he's chewing his last bite, but Lio can tell he has more to say.

"Might help you, too," he continues, standing to start taking their plates to the kitchen. "Us."

Lio's mind is whirling again, not used to shifting the focus to himself. It'll take some convincing, but maybe it's worth a little energy.

"Let's start here," Galo offers, returning. "What am I thinking right now?" He closes his eyes as if to keep other thoughts from interfering. Lio does his best to clear his own head, the storm still fading there.

"You're telling me...that it's your turn to do the dishes. Right?" He manages a lopsided grin.

"Something was clearly lost in translation," Galo teases back.

They end up sharing the light workload and then some, almost making a dance of collecting stray cups, wiping down counters, re-straightening blankets over the back of the couch. Galo playfully grabs Lio's ass somewhere in the middle, and Lio yelps playfully like he's been intentionally caught in a delightful, sexy trap.

Suddenly, it feels like they've been doing this for years.

In the leading months, their movie nights have become pretty commonplace. Two times out of three, Galo ends up sleeping in his own bed, but the trajectory of this night leans more toward the last third - Operation: Sleep Sitting Together on the Couch, Waking Up With a Sore Back But it's Totally Worth It.

(That's what Galo calls it, anyway.)

Tonight they're half-watching a late-night run of a mecha anime, still enjoyable despite agreeing that it just doesn't live up to the feeling of the real thing. They laugh about it together, because it's all just so absurd, but some scenes still trigger an awe in them.

In others they hold tighter to each other without words, eyes fixed to the screen but sharing a dialogue that neither feels in conscious control of.

When the credits roll around, they're kissing, neither fully remembering making the decision to initiate. Galo's got the fingers of one hand threading carefully through Lio's hair, holding but never pulling, the other on his back, inching lower over time. Lio's tongue is working at Galo's lips, and Galo gives back as good as he gets, nipping at Lio's bottom lip here and there, knocking the breath out of him in pulsing gasps.

Lio wants to ask where Galo learned to kiss this well - he so expertly straddles the line between _veteran sex god_ and _clueless virgin_ that it's impossible to get a grasp on him. But Lio bites it back; he's far to interested in doing anything he can to wring out a groan, a sigh, his own name when he's lucky.

(He's starting to think he is, despite everything.)

Lio reaches down, pulling off his own shirt and throwing it aside, taking a second to enjoy Galo's transfixed expression, head tilted back, eyes blown wide and starry. The scars on his own left arm have the faintest glow, radiating heat; Galo brushes his fingertips along them, one hand returning to brace Lio's now-naked waist.

"Oh," Galo murmurs, like there are no words left, like he's piecing together exactly how he got here. Lio feels about the same, and he's never been more thankful than in this moment that Galo is shirtless as usual.

Making out is pretty routine now, too, as are errant touches and even a little bit of grinding that doesn't ever go further, late into the night when they don't have to talk about it much. It's not for lack of wanting, if the dual rushes of sparking desire tidal-waving behind his eyes then and now are any trustworthy indication, but everything in their lives had still been so messy that they must've been afraid of complicating things.

But this doesn't feel complicated, it feels collaborative.

Lio can feel Galo's delight rolling off of him in waves, even without the grin pressed into his neck. Lio's fully in Galo's lap now, legs wrapping around, knees pressed against his sides, hips almost frustratingly composed and still.

"I want you to try again," Galo murmurs, voice steady but fraying around the edges. "What am I thinking?"

Lio presses his forehead to Galo's, an almost innocent gesture if not for the rest of his posture giving him away. "Let's see," he breathes, voice already honey-heavy. "You really wanna get off right now. Is that right?"

"Lio..."

Lio chastises himself for waiting this long, for letting so many weeks go by that he could've heard this voice this wrecked.

Finally, torturously, Lio hips move, hardening cocks sliding together totally on purpose this time, nothing to laugh off, explain away. All of Galo's breath heaves out of him in a ragged sigh, his fingers shakily pawing at the waistband of Lio's too-big sweatpants. "Can I?"

"Yeah, fuck," Lio pants. "Please."

Galo divests him quickly and Lio returns the favor, Galo lifting his hips to let his pants slide to his knees, not even bothering to make it farther. The friction is delightful now, and every point of contact scorches and sparks across over-sensitized skin, like it was written in the laws of nature for their beings to collide.

By this point they're panting, kisses only broken by soft groans or quick breaks for air, hands grabbing and nails digging in for traction anywhere they can reach. Lio can feel a damp spot at the front of his underwear, reaching down to find that Galo matches him. He takes them both in hand, hips bucking rythmically now, pushing back into Galo's steadfast grip on his ass.

"Lio!" Galo gasps. head rolling back, needy eyes transfixed on Lio's face.

"Bed," Lio growls, and for all of Galo's desperation, he gets right to work, expertly scooping Lio up in his arms and closing the short distance to his room, losing his pants on the way. Lio's practically tossed on the bed with all of the finesse Galo can reasonably muster, and Lio's right back on the attack, optimized for speed and stealth to offset Galo's power.

Galo ends up spread out on his back, thumbs digging into the hollows of Lio's hip bones just for the contact. Lio's resumed stroking their cocks together, sitting up like he's poised to ride; the position is kind of hell on his thighs, and they can't quite kiss from this angle but he can't worry too much about it with the way Galo's writhing and whining beneath him, still apparently close despite the sudden change in location.

Lio shifts then, letting them go to pull Galo's boxers down, focusing on Galo alone as he skillfully quickens and tightens his strokes, thumb swiping over the head, spreading the wetness there. Galo nearly chokes on a moan, panting Lio's name as he comes over Lio's hand, still dutifully working him through it.

"C'mere," Galo's calling just as Lio gets his hand pumping on his own dick. Lio's come-hithered to crawl up, scooting forward just a bit, and Galo's pulling his underwear down. He swiftly replaces Lio's hand with his own, and Lio would be embarrassed about how quickly he tumbles over the edge, if he weren't long past that point.

They're both the perfect picture of a mess, but in the moments before they resolve to take care of it, all they can do is laugh - nothing shy or awkward about it. More like exaltant, even relieved.

It's Galo that's first to get up to grab a wash cloth for them, and Lio allows himself to remain in his spot, contented but starting to feel prone. In the moments in between, he crumples onto his back, gaze darting around the room. He hasn't seen much of Galo's room, admittedly - and has certainly never been in his bed even to sleep.

It's a modest space - a nightstand, a mirror, and a dresser, topped with a couple of leaning stuffed animals warped with age. There are a couple of abstract crayon drawings pinned to the wall, plus a photo of Galo with the Burning Rescue team among them. Maybe Lio could pick up some picture frames, help him arrange them a little more neatly.

...If it was _his_ room, which it's not, nope. Not his decision to make, and frankly rude of him to consider -

Galo's pressing a warm cloth into his hand, then. He's still totally naked despite ready access to his own clothes. He places a haphazardly folded T-shirt beside Lio, hurriedly murmuring that it's too small for him anyway.

It's only now that Lio starts to feel the awkwardness creeping in, but he pushes through it, throwing the T-shirt on, finding momentary respite. It swallows him.

Galo sits on the edge of the bed, somewhere along the line having thrown on clean underwear. His face is worryingly blank, and he keeps his back turned at a comfortable distance like he's suddenly shy about taking up space in his own room.

The radio waves in his mind are calm. There's no real sign of distress or danger. So why does Lio feel like he has to talk his way out of this?

"Um," Lio starts, trying to remember the last time he felt at such a loss for words. Five hundred equally likely sentences fight to tumble out of his throat, just as many equally possible scenarios that can unfold in the next thirty seconds.

None of them make it. Lio's left hand falls onto Galo's scarred arm, like it's magnetized there, and finally something makes it through:

 _Stay_ is all he hears, reedy and full of static yet surprisingly lucid, for Galo's racing thoughts. _Please stay._

Lio almost folds in on himself with the weight of the transmission. Galo spins around to face him, long legs stretching diagonally, almost comically across the bed.

When their eyes meet, a jolt of understanding makes them both shudder like a physical shock.

"You're still not a burden to me," Galo reminds him, his eyes full of all of the insecurity that Lio's silently asked him to carry. His face is kind, but serious. "Please stop acting like it."

Lio breathes in deep, finding his resolution.

"It'll take time," he admits. "But I'll try."

Galo's smile finally returns, and something in Lio's chest feels like it's stumbling down a flight of stairs. "So stay with me?"

Lio doesn't comment on the forever that he hears faintly over the line, like a thought that Galo's not trying to push, but it's getting through anyway.

"If you'll have me," Lio answers, and Galo's scooping him up and kissing him again.

Lio's gaze finds the ceiling when their kisses break, and Galo follows it like there's something interesting to look at.

"You're really bad at hiding what you're thinking, aren't you?" Lio asks, barely thinking about it.

"Am I supposed to?" Galo quietly retorts. "Hide?"

Lio feels the ball pass to his court, considering his next words carefully, but it's still Galo who speaks next. "You're really bad at _showing_ what you're feeling, aren't you?"

Lio hadn't instantly manifested perfect discipline over the Promare's fire; it had taken years of intense meditation and training. The Promare had been tightly linked to the emotions of the Burnish; this made it necessary for Lio to tame his every visceral reaction, reign in every raging snap and sorrowful cry. He'd made an energy store from them, to pull from as he saw fit.

Now, Lio realizes, all he's left with is a therapy-sized pool of repression.

He tries to explain as much to Galo, and he understands more easily than Lio would've given him credit for. Galo, he realizes, is also fueled by emotion, but he allows himself to feel so boldly, so loudly that his power is in constant oversupply. His heart would always be on his sleeve, if he ever wore any. It explains why, if Lio tunes in at just the right frequency, he can hear a near-constant stream of babble, occasionally cresting to something clearer and louder before fizzling back out.

"This is nice," Galo whispers against moonlight-soaked sheets. "Can we stay like this?"

Lio inches up, then forward, lightly pressing their foreheads together. he's not sure if it actually helps, but he doesn't miss the way Galo melts into it, the slow fall of his chest giving away his sigh.

"I think so," Lio answers. "I'd like that."

He doesn't give himself space in his head to argue, head falling to the pillow that Galo's spread out for him. They fall asleep even later than usual, a tangle of limbs and quiet breathing. Galo's not going to get enough sleep, and Lio will probably get too much, but it's a problem for the future that doesn't need attention right now.

The reality is, when he awakens, he finds he's slept better than he has in years.

\--

Gueira nearly spits out his soda. "Just the other night? It took you _this_ long? Y'all seriously haven't fucked yet?"

Lio's embarrassed laugh slips out despite himself. "Don't know what to tell you, man," he forces between his giggles. "Shit happens."

Meis and Gueira hadn't been surprised about Lio's fire (they suspected as much anyway, on account of the heat he still radiated) and only admonished him for not opening up about it sooner. It's true; Lio's been holding far too much back.

 _This_ is apparently what it takes to catch them off guard. Meis is laughing to the point of slapping his knee - probably at Gueira's incredulity, not at Lio, but Lio feigns exasperation. Gueira offers Lio a cigarette; he declines.

Gueira had quickly landed a steady but miserable job at a pharmacy, and has been working with a therapist under the table for untreated anger issues. Gueira's a lot like Galo that way, Lio realizes, wielding his emotions like a weapon. With that weapon gone, he's been a little unsteady. Meis hasn't been successfully employed so far, and Lio can see the stir-craziness blooming in him, beneath his calm and collection.

Like Lio, they've both been offered positions at Burning Rescue 3 - another thing Galo presses him about every so often. No one's super opposed to the idea, but it's going to take some unpacking.

"I think," Lio murmurs as the chorus of their laughter fades out, "I think I'm happy."

It's not a destination, he thinks. Happiness isn't the top of a mountain. It's not a place to stop, it's just the light that you reach toward as you grow. He doesn't say this to his generals, because he's probably said enough silly stuff already. But he hopes they can understand, hopes he's setting a good example.

"You should be," Meis says easily. "We _all_ should be, haven't we been through enough shit?"

Gueira settles back against his perch on the worn sofa, wide and relaxed. "I think I am too," he muses, stretching until something pops in his shoulder. "Compared to other pads we've crashed in, for sure."

Meis chuckles, amused. "Yeah," he agrees. "Getting there."

\--

Lio quickly finds - contrary to popular belief - that Galo is a very composed, still sleeper. He barely snores or stirs, though his skin can burn uncomfortably hot. Sometimes he squeezes Lio just tight enough that he worries about suffocating, but he's otherwise inoffensive.

He also finds with a creeping horror that with the novel luxury of Galo's huge soft bed, the unruly sleeper is _himself._

The first time Galo tells him, Lio gets a fuzzy projector-reel of himself sprawled across three quarters of the bed, limbs dangling and askew, mouth slack and free of inhibition. He's snoring like a jackhammer until Galo gently pokes him in the shoulder. He watches himself curl up, becoming quiet and docile, before slowly branching out again. He hears Galo chuckle as the dial turns.

It's the first time one of Galo's memories appears across the Bond. The second time is much less pleasant.

The heat is probably what wakes Lio - it's the biggest downfall of sharing a bed with someone who burns just as hot as him - but Galo's muffled sniffing and whimpering is what rouses him to quick attention. He pushes away spikes of panic like cobwebs, finding Galo's face, pained and straining in the low light. He's biting his lip, twisting and twitching. Lio feels his heart drop so far below he's worried about finding it again.

"Galo," he whispers, then again, "Galo?" closer to his ear, but it doesn't reach him, Lio strokes up and down his arm, leaning forward on his knees until their foreheads meet again.

All he sees is fire, hears it roaring through his ears, louder than his blood. It's a maze that he's watching a child run through, and Lio reaches out his arms to grab him but he's too far away, grasping at nothing. Voices join the din of the flames, too jumbled to make out their words, but it's a voice he recognizes well enough. Lio feels his skin prickle, baring his teeth.

No, it's not real - not to him, anyway. He needs to convince Galo of that, too.

Lio leans back, collecting himself. He bumps Galo's forehead again, with gentle intention, fingertips idly tracing his scars again. He sharpens his focus, softens himself enough to lay an extinguishing glow over the blaze. The child left in the wake of its rubble is crying, but now Lio can reach out, gathering him in his arms and close to his chest.

He hushes the voices away, the whispers of _eyesore_ and _useless_ and _cancer._ The child falls asleep in his hold, and Lio pulls away, relieved. Galo has gone lax again, face softening. Lio kisses at the last of the furrow in his brow and settles back in close behind him.

 _I love you,_ he sends. He should probably work on being more specific. _Lio de Galon._

This is as good a start as any, despite everything. Despite clawing through government bureaucracy like layers of hell, finding only shaky footing in a society that's only ever pushed him away, fighting the clutching demons of the past and of his own mind...

He breathes in, and feels Galo breathe out.

It's not a destination, but it's where he finds his strength.

\--

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [on twitter](https://twitter.com/jadebrace1) , I'd love to hang out!
> 
> [work title](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5XN5Y60i_tg)
> 
> [series title](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ATumKDEN_Do)


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